Walking Dead 1. OC form and an intro

Hello reader! You can call me Freak, and I will be writing a story called _What We Become_, set in the Walking Dead universe. This story at the moment will be made up of OC's that you, reader can submit using the form below listed below. After I introduce the characters, they will eventually find the prison and Rick's group. If you want your OC to have a relationship with an of the canon characters alive during season 3, please list the canon characters name in the section "relationships" in the OC form. Also, please don't have every girl OC in love with Daryl. When choosing weapons, I'm okay with military grade weapons as long as you know that all guns have a finite supply of bullets and you include how your OC got said military grade weapon. The first seven OC submissions will be the characters in the story. So, enough of my rambling, here's the form:

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Former occupation:

Appearance:

Personality:

Role in a group:

Skills:

Fears:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Family members (dead or alive):

Relationships (OC or Canon):

Weapons (if you include guns, please include the number of bullets as well. The bullet number can't be over 200):

Bio:

Other:


	2. Hurt

**WHAT UP GUYS! I'd like to thank SuperNeos2, Jokerang, Wizadora1257, Forbbiden, Mirage Writer, thelovelyDauntless, and SamanthaTheWriter for submitting OC's, you're all awesome! Also, I've made my own OC, so here's the form: **

**Name: Jack Bloomfield **

**Age: 17 Gender: M **

**Former occupation: Student **

**Appearance: Jack has medium length, light brown hair that sweeps across his head to the right. His eyes are a deep emerald green and his most distinguishing feature. He has multiple scars on his chest and back due to a childhood of abuse from his father, and a scar running diagonally along his cheek (I'll explain that in the bio). He has a muscular build, due running away from and fighting the walkers. He wears a grey plain T-shirt, OD green cargo pants, and a pair of hiking boots. To carry supplies, he wears an OD green rucksack and wears a bandolier for rifle ammo across his chest, along with a holster for his revolver. **

**Personality: Due to childhood abuse, Jack is quiet and a bit of a loner. He is timid when meeting new people and nervous when talking to girls. He is polite, but a little sarcastic at times. When he feels like he can trust someone, he is loyal, caring, (sometimes over) protective, and will die to keep that person safe and alive. His youth makes him brave and he takes many risks to achieve his goals. At times Jack has depressed mood swings about his childhood and the death of his Uncle and mother. During those times his is rude, impatient, and likes to be alone. Also, his childhood of abusive makes him flinch when someone living touches him, as if they are going to hit him. His Dad's voice in his head often nags him, sometimes leading Jack to argue with himself as if another person is there, although he thinks he can control it when in the company of people. **

**Role in a group: Marksman and hunter **

**Skills: Jack is a sharpshooter and brutal close combat fighter. He is light on his feet, and is able to escape tight situations with some ease. Fears: being turned into a walker, his father, walkers (but he'd never show it), his own mental health **

**Strengths: shooting guns, being silent, fighting and surviving alone **

**Weaknesses: talking to girls, his moral compass making him a little soft, Dad's voice that nags him constantly **

**Family members (dead or alive): Mother: Dead, Uncle: Dead, Father: doesn't know or care **

**Relationships (OC or Canon): Becomes very close to everyone in his group, OCs and Canons, nothing romantic yet. **

**Weapons: Winchester Model 70 rifle with 100 bullets, Colt New Service (I love revolvers :D) 30 bullets, Busse Gemini Knife **

**Bio: Jack was born to a loving mother and an abusive and alcoholic father. Numerous nights his drunken father would come home and beat the living crap out of the young boy, then his mother. He hated his father for this, but his mother was always there for him. Standing up for him, giving him a shoulder to cry on, and just be a loving mother. When Jack was ten, his father was drunk as usual, and he beating that night lead to something that has scarred Jack for life; both physically and mentally. After a sharp slap to the face, father-of-the-year took a kitchen knife and slashed it across young Jack's left cheek. That was the last straw for his mother. The next day Jack and his mother left while his father was at work and moved in with his Uncle Joe (generic, I know), an avid hunter. **

**As Jack grew older, Uncle Joe taught him how to fire guns of all shapes and sizes. Jack was a natural sharpshooter and an excellent hunter. Years of abuse has toughened the exterior of the boy and gave him determination and a fierce "never say die" attitude. Uncle Joe became his second father of sorts, and Jack had the feeling of being truly loved by both of his parents for the first time. That all changed when the apocalypse struck. Uncle Joe and Jack's mother decided it would be best for them to move to the closest major city, Atlanta They prepared a kit for everyone, Jack's including an OD green bag with food, water, medical supplies, a flashlight, multiple books, ammo for his weapons and a cleaning kit for both his guns. He was given a Winchester Model 70 hunting rifle and a Colt New Service Revolver, along with a Busse Gemini knife as weapons. Atlanta was not better, however. The walkers closed in on the family fast, leaving Jack the only survivor as walkers tore his mother and Uncle Joe to pieces. Jack managed to escape, and now he wanders the wilderness and small towns in Georgia, looking for supplies and survivors. **

**Other: Despite his rather meek personality, Jack loves loud music. His favorite bands are Guns 'N Roses, Nirvana, and AC/DC **

**It's a little long, I'm sorry. Sometimes I start writing things and can't stop. **

**And SamanthaTheWriter, you have excellent taste in revolvers. **

**Without further ado, chapter one if What We Become! **

Chapter One: Hurt

Jack's POV

Why was the apocalypse suddenly so boring?

Jack walked along the desolate trail, flanked on both sides by endless stretches of forest. All he wanted was to be somewhere else, preferable walker free. The sky was a stormy grey and the roars of thunder and the steaks of lightning in the sky gave Jack the evidence to the oncoming storm, and he didn't want to be outside to witness it. All he wanted to do was curl up in the corner with one of his books and read in silence. Jack wondered what book he should read next. He had at least 12 of them; he didn't have the time to count them recently. He did at one point, but that was just a number, forgotten long ago. Forgotten like many things he should have remembered.

Like his Mom.

_Pussy_ his father's voice spat in his head.

"Shut the hell up." Jack muttered as he walked down the trail, the reminder of his father's voice made Jack's scar hurt.

_I should read Twilight Eyes _Jack thought in his normal voice_, haven't read that one in a while…._

_Who the fuck needs reading now-a-days?_ His father's voice returned

"Just shut the hell up!" Jack shouted angrily.

His dad's voice chuckled, _"Stuck a nerve, Jacky? Fuck this, the Braves are playing. See ya later, princess…._

Jack shook his head and said softly "I'm going crazy…."

Thunder roared in the distance, reminding Jack of the storm. The woods were quiet, a little too quiet for his liking. He cradled his Winchester rifle closer to his body, his eyes scanning the woods looking for walkers. His Winchester Model 70 was his prized possession; everywhere he went, the rifle was at his side. He just hoped he didn't have to use it now. Jack wanted something to do. It was too boring to wander the forest aimlessly searching for a house that may not even be here, but he had nothing better to do and didn't want to stick around for the storm. What to do…What to do. A smile spread across Jack's face as he remembered a song his mom would sing to him when he was scared; and that was frequently. What was that song…..

Hurt. Hurt by Johnny Cash. Jack always preferred loud music, but he loved when his Mom sang to him.

_"I hurt myself today"_

_"To see if I still feel_"

_"I focus on the pain" _

_"The only thing that's real"_

Jack smiled to himself as he said the lyrics, forgetting the rest of the first verse. However, the chorus was his favorite part, he'd never forget it. _"What have I become"_

_"My sweetest friend" _

_"Everyone I know goes away in the end" _

_"And you could have it all" _

_"My empire of dirt" _

_"I will let you down" _

_"I will make you hurt"_

"Everyone I know goes away." Jack repeated. Mom, Uncle Joe, they all just go away…..

The house was the only thing that kept Jack from having a rather vivid flashback of that day in Atlanta. My own little piece of heaven Jack thought, giving a triumphant cheer as he ran up the rest of the trail. A light drizzle had started to brew, a reminder of the oncoming storm. He put his head through the sling of the rifle, straitening it neatly on his back. As Jack ran up the porch, he drew his Colt New Service revolver, the four inch barrel making it a more adequate weapon to clear out the house.

_Alright….1…2…_

_Don't fuck this up, princess!_ His dad's voice intervened.

Jack sighed as he kicked open the door, swiftly moving into the isolated house. Jack's eyes darted across the small foyer at the entrance, fortunately walker-free. There was a rectangular entry way to his right; leading to what he assumed was the den. Jack took a deep breath and slowly walked into the room, which was the den as Jack guessed. A single walker was sprawled on the couch, a middle age man with a large bite wound in his shoulder. Slung over his back was a double barrel shotgun, something that Jack could use later. It clumsily stood up and with a moan began to stagger towards Jack.

"Not your lucky day, my friend." Jack said as he raised his Colt and shot the walker in the center of the forehead. Blood and bits of brain exploded out the back of its head, painting the nearest wall. The gore didn't faze Jack; blood and brain matter were something he saw every day. Another moan rang through the house as Jack heard footsteps behind him. He turned with his Colt raised as another walker walked through the short hallway that took you from the foyer to the kitchen. "Ugly bitch." Jack muttered as he put a bullet into the walker's brain. It was a middle age woman, probably a house wife. Jack sighed and holstered his revolver, walking fully into the den and slipping of his backpack, laying it against the couch. He pulled the rifle sling over his head, laying it next to the backpack against the couch as well. He then unclipped his knife sheath, containing his Busse Gemini, and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He left his holster on a he plopped on the soft couch; his first chance at relaxation in a long time. The rain had picked up, and it pounded against the house and windows. Jack didn't care; he always enjoyed the rain for some reason. He leaned down, unzipping the innermost flap of his book bag and shuffling through it, looking for his book.

"Bingo." He said as he pulled out the novel he was looking for, _Twilight Eyes_ by Dean Koontz. He returned to his comfortable position on the couch and opened to the first page of his book.

_"This was the year that….."_ Jack's mental reading was suddenly interrupted by a loud banging noise coming from the upstairs.

Jack sighed and set the book down on the coffee table, "One good day, is that too much to ask?" He grumbled as he stood up bent down.

The shotgun walker had fallen face first, so Jack pulled the shotgun's sling over the limp sack of flesh and broke the barrels over his knee, disappointed to find that the weapon was unloaded. He set the shotty down on the couch as he drew his New Service, letting it rest at the side of his body with his right hand. Jack walked back into the foyer, stepping over the housewife walker as he ascended up the spiral staircase. The banging came from the room farthest down the hallway on the left side. The eerie banging suddenly subsided when Jack got to the top of the stairs. Luckily every door was closed, so Jack walked through the hallway, slowly making his way to the farthest room on the left. When he finally reached the room, he took a deep breath and raised his Colt, putting his left hand on the doorknob. He slammed it open quickly, surveying the bedroom. His eyes fixed on a walker near a bed, its back turned to him. The walker turned, reveling a little girl with clumps of blond hair and a tattered pink dress. Jack shook his head in disbelief, saying, "I'm sorry." As he aimed is Colt.

_Click._

No.

_Click._

He did not forget to reload this damn thing.

_Click._

Fuck.

The little girl sauntered toward Jack as he looked at her in panic.

_Its okay, I'll just use my knife. _

_I left it downstairs. _

_Fuck._

The little girls speed increases as she neared her meal. Jack swallowed as he realized what he had to do. As the girl was nearly on top of him, Jack lashed out with a swift push, knocking the little girl off her feet. He closed in on her until he was sitting on the little girl's decaying and grayed stomach. He flipped his New Service in his hand so he was holding it by the barrel and brought the hunk of metal down on the girls face. Too soft. Jack reared his hand and gave another blow. And another. And another. There was a large chunk missing from the girls head as Jack slid off of her limp body, turning to puke. He was used to gore, but he just knocked a little girl's head in. He wiped his mouth and collapsed on the bed that was pushed up against the center of the wall.

"What have I become?" He questioned as he stared up at the ceiling, the bed creaking under his weight.

_A fuckin man, that's what! Finally grew a set Jacky!_ the all too familiar voice of his father said.

"GO TO HELL!" Jack shouted as loud as he could, sick of the constant nagging by his father's voice. It didn't return. As Jack sat on the bed that was too small for him, he realized how lonely he really was. He remembered going hunting with Uncle Joe, listening to his Mom sing him to sleep at night, the cake he had for his 16th birthday….

Something suddenly tickled Jack's cheek. A fly, probably. He pulled his hand up to his cheek to brush it away and it came back wet.

It was a tear. He was crying.

His body heaved in a great sob as tears flooded down his face and he wailed like a baby. He cried for the little girl he killed. He cried for his Uncle Joe. He cried for his mother. He cried for the screwed up world he lived in. He cried for his screwed up childhood.

So damn lonely…

**Well, that was the first chapter for What We Become! All OC characters will be introduced in the next chapter; this was just a "test" chapter to see what you all think. I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! -Freak**


	3. Author Note

Hello reader! Sadly, I'm discontinuing this story. But, I didn't want to let you down, so I'm re-making it with all of your OCs. This story won't have cannons and a different plotline, but still has a lot of moments borrowed from the comic and show (FEAR THE HUNTERS). The story will be written in first person perspective, with on of my OCs as the main character (it's not Jack, I've made a different one. Sorry, seems like you guys really liked him.) The story will be called "Prayer of the Refugee" and will feature a quote from a song that relates to the chapter. I promise this story won't disappoint, and it will be out by the end of the month!

Cheers!

-Freak


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Walking Dead, Horror